


Like needles in the hay

by pr_scatterbrain



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, KHL, M/M, Metallurg Magnitogorsk, NHL Lockout, Pining, bad decisions made when drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/pseuds/pr_scatterbrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney can wait. He can. But he doesn't want to. And that’s what it comes down to, really.</p><p>Or the KHL au where Sidney goes to Russia during the lockout, plays hockey, and lives on borrowed time/angst's all over Geno's soft furnishing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like needles in the hay

**Author's Note:**

> This would not have been possible without the help and support of Caroline (Northern Star), Rae (masterpenguin82) and Lexi (pikasafire). Caroline generously gave her time and hockey expertise to help me with this thing. She was there right from the beginning when I first emailed her this (http://puckling.tumblr.com/post/30486225448/thehoyden-elqiao-sid-and-geno-playing) and said I would read the heck out of that au (I didn't plan to write it until she convinced me too). Rae got me into this fandom and since doing so, she and Lexi have been such wonderful cheerleaders for all my hockey fics. They're also pretty amazing mods. Thank you all for patiently letting me ramble and bounce ideas off you. I owe you one. 
> 
> I would also like to thank rhinemaiden who made a really thoughtful mix to accompany this. Thank you so much for making such a wonderful mix. It really enhances the story. (Download it here: http://rhinemaiden.livejournal.com/38113.html)
> 
>  **Warning:** At one point one character drinks too much and another character who is in a relationship with someone else makes out with him. It's indented to be playful and nothing more than a momentary hookup which sometimes occurs at parties, but when this fic was posted, a few people interpreted the scene as dubcon and/or impaired consent. I did not intended it to be, however, if dubcon or impaired consent is a trigger for you, I advise that you read with caution.

 

 

Out of all of them, Geno saw the lockout coming. Everyone knew it was a possibility, but he was the first to leave.

It took him less than two hours to sign with his old team according to what people write in blogs and sports columns which are called articles but are little more than gossip. Sidney reads both. But so does everyone else. It’s a waste of time really. Just more of the same.

Geno’s been gone for weeks now.

Sidney is still in Pittsburgh. It’s been a while since he was anywhere else.  

During the week he makes a point to help Jay Caufield and Mike Kadar lead casual practices for whoever is still in town but each week the crowd varies, fluctuating day to day. Sometimes a dozen people come, other times less. Sometimes it’s just Pens. Other times ex-Pens attend; once or twice Max has come and bossed everyone around like he never left. A few times some guys from other teams have attended. Each day is different.

In the evening when the day is done, Sidney makes a point of watching Geno’s games, watches him wearing another jersey and playing with other people.

"I will see you soon," Geno says, whenever Sidney speaks to him. 

"I know," Sidney says because he knows that one off by heart thanks to the PR done by the NHLPA.  _Any day now..._

"No, Sid," Geno says patiently. “No.”

And Sidney doesn't know quite what to say. 

Geno lets him change subject. They don't really have anything else to talk about though. It’s strange how Sidney notices that now. It's quiet and disjointed between them. It always has been to an extent, but normally there isn't a lockout, and normally Geno is within arm’s reach. Now there are time zones to think about and distance and it's late. Later than Sidney normally calls. Geno should probably be sleeping. Sidney should probably let him. 

"I'm sorry," Sidney tells him because he can’t let himself off the hook even if Geno can. 

"It's okay," Geno says. He is quiet on the other end of the line. His breathing is slow and even.

Sidney’s fingers twitch uselessly.

He feels unsettled after he hangs up. That isn't new. 

 

 

 

Time passes. Sidney practices and Geno plays and everyone is waiting. 

 

 

 

Another month passes.

Sidney doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

He visits Taylor.

While there, he and his parents attend one of her games. He’s never gotten the chance to see her play. But then, he’s never really got the chance to know her. They’re family but he left home when she was six. Maybe he doesn’t know her at all. From high up in the stands, he watches her guard the nets and cheers when she blocks a goal. Elation fills him. Seeing just how good she is, is something special. He wants to tell her that, afterwards. But afterwards he gets asked for photographs and autographs and he’ll tell her later, he thinks.

 

 

 

(Later comes and goes).

 

 

 

He watches more of Geno’s games.

“You’re playing well,” he tells Geno when Geno starts to become frustrated with his lack of points in his most recent games.

“Could be better,” Geno says.

That’s Sidney’s line. Sidney wonders if it’s a joke. Maybe, if it wasn’t Geno, Sidney would laugh. Just in case. It is Geno, though. So Sidney doesn’t.

Geno’s voice sounds different on the phone. Quieter, maybe. Or maybe he is just a quiet presence on the other end of the line, waiting for Sidney to think of something clever to say. It’s hard to know.  The eleven hour time difference feels like more than half a day’s worth of disance.

Sidney thinks of Geno’s goals during last season and how nothing is better than the feeling of slipping the puck past a goalie.

Geno is a great player. Some things need time though.

“It’ll come,” Sidney tells him.

Geno sighs. “I know.”

Sidney thinks he’s said that before. Or heard it.

Snake bitten – that’s what people are starting to call him.

It’s a lie, but so are a lot of things people say. 

 

 

 

Lies are easy. Sidney learnt this early on.

 

 

 

Around Sidney, the exodus continues.

People are still coming to practice, but not many. Not as often, either.

Sidney makes himself inhale and exhale slowly. He went and visited his family. He did that. That was his choice.  

It isn’t up to him to make other peoples decisions.

The NHL are making some if his though.

Player’s aren’t allowed to speak to owners. And vice versa.

This isn’t meant to be a problem – shouldn’t be a problem. Sidney never wanted to talk to many people. But he isn’t used to not having anyone to talk to now he can’t talk to Mario. It’s strange, the dull sensation he feels whenever he finds himself wanting to drive over or pick up the phone. In his head, Sidney tries to save all the things he wants to say, to put them aside for now. Later they can talk. Later Sidney can tell Mario about how Cooke is trying to change his style of play and how Max is getting bored (and thus emailing Sidney the weirdest YouTube diy links). It isn’t important. It can wait.

Sidney’s never had a lot of people.

Mostly he just has Mario and Geno. Maybe he has his parents and Taylor. But it’s been a long time since he felt like they were his home. To be honest, for the longest time he didn’t have a home. Then he had Mario, and then there was Geno.

He doesn’t have either now.

 

 

 

Pre-season games are cancelled. Tickets are refunded.

No one is particularly surprised.

 

 

 

There are talks. There are proposals. There are a lot of things going on behind the scenes, allegedly. 

 

  

 

More games are cancelled. More tickets are refunded.

Rinse and repeat.

 

 

 

Sidney is left with a bad taste in his mouth.

There are yet more talks. He calls his agent, Pat Brisson. Pat talks too. The themes of the day always seem to be about patience and about thinking in the long term and how progress is being made. There is nothing intrinsically good or bad about the sentiments Pat expresses. Or there isn’t to Sidney. Indifference is new to Sidney. Hockey is hockey. But the politics of the lockout is rapidly turning out to be another game. Maybe Sidney isn’t a novice at it, but he isn’t an expert either.

When asked, he answers various journalists’ questions to the best of his ability. For the most part they ask the same questions. When’s and how’s and what for’s and _what does he think_? Everyone is so interested in what he thinks – about the lockout, about Bettman, about Bobby Ryan implying (or saying – but who’s counting) in a flippant twitter comment, that signing with international teams/leagues is akin to betrayal.

Sidney knows he has a voice. He is told repeatedly that he has a voice.

Maybe he does. But maybe he doesn’t. Either way, early on in the piece he realises if he is considered the face of the NHL, he should speak for the NHLPA. He couldn’t not. Together with his father Troy and Pat in the background, Sidney makes a few appearances, says a few pre-prepared sound bites.

 Long term thinking sometimes works best when it’s communicated in short sentences. It’s sort of like jokes without a punch line.

 “That makes no fucking sense,” Jonathan Toews says when they meet up.

 But he would say that.

 The lockout has striped Jon bare. There is a certain type of clarity to him now, that wasn’t present before. It’s striking, how articulate and sure he is of what he wants. Everyone wants to play. But he wants to play on the right terms.

Sidney wants that too. But he is patient. It is learnt. But so are many things.

The truth – not that he shares it – is Sidney can wait. He’s waited for over a year to heal. He can wait.

So Sidney waits.

One month passes. Then two.

“The year is almost over,” he finds himself saying to Colby Armstrong, when he comes out to Pittsburgh for a few days after the latest NHLPA promotional event.

“Time flies, eh.”

Sidney knows. It is.

Colby is one of Sidney’s oldest friends. It’s been a while since they had the time to catch up. Now, Sidney assumes, they both have an abundance of it.

“What are you thinking of doing?” Colby asks.

Sidney shrugs.

Colby grins. “A first.”

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“Got to go with something.”

Sidney supposes that’s true.  

 

 

 

While in town, Colby attends an informal practice with Sidney.

Since he was traded from the Pens, Colby has had good and bad seasons. But on the ice, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Just like old times,” Colby says at one point. He says it after he steals the puck from Sidney. Asshole.

Sidney laughs and chases after him.

Not everything is complicated.

 

 

 

In the evening, Colby insists on going out for drinks with the guys. They start the night off at Mike’s with good intentions, but somehow the night ends at an awful sports bar where they watch highlights from the previous weeks’ worth of KHL games while drinking overpriced microbrews. All the footage is old and out of date and badly dubbed and everyone has seen them before. But that doesn’t stop ESPN from replaying them instead of streaming more up to date games, or them, from watching them for the umpteenth time. 

“Fucking Ovechkin,” Matt Cooke says as they watch him make a spectacular hit on a player from the opposing team. 

Sidney doesn’t wince in empathy.

“Yeah, fuck him,” Colby says conversationally.

Three and a half beers into the night he is sprawled over the booth.

“When did you become such a lightweight?” Sidney asks him. “I thought the Leafs would have cured you of that.”

“Fuck you,” Colby retorts, his head lolling to the side.

Sidney snorts and steals Colby’s beer.

“That was mostly backwash,” Colby comments after Sidney takes a swig.

Sidney is too old to flinch. “I thought it was just shit beer.”

Colby grins, all teeth and bad manners. “I like your spunk, Crosby.”

“You have horrible taste.”

“Yeah, but that’s why you like me so much.”

Colby is a sentimental drunk. It’s been a while since they did this, but Sidney still remembers the team lumbering him with Colby after a night out. ‘The deadweight and the lightweight’ – that was how it used to be. It’s almost funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

On the cab ride home Colby falls asleep on Sidney’s lap. It’s awful. He drools all over Sidney’s jeans and snores. Mercifully, the cab driver doesn’t comment. A few times Sidney catches him looking in the rear vision mirror, but Sidney takes what he can get.

When they reach Sidney’s place, Sidney fishes Colby’s wallet out of his back pocket and tips generously.

If Sidney was eighteen, maybe he’d feel bad. But Colby is one of Sidney’s oldest friends for a reason.

 

 

 

The next day Colby is hung over and crabby. When Sidney drops him off at the airport, Colby winces under the bright florescent light. Sidney laughs at him. He probably shouldn’t, but he can’t help it.

“Fuck, Sid,” Colby tells him. “I was going to ask you to come out and see me.”

“Again?” Sidney asks. “Really? Why?”

Colby makes a face. “You’re a horrible friend, Sid.”

“I could be worse.”

“True,” Colby allows. “It’s a pity the bar is set so low.”

“Yeah, a pity,” Sidney agrees.

And that is that.

Colby goes home and so does Sidney.

 

 

 

(Everyone is killing time in their own way).

 

 

 

If this was something happening to someone else, Sidney would – Sidney isn’t sure what he would feel. He keeps waiting and waiting but nothing is happening. It would be a lie to say Sidney isn’t frustrated. But he can be introspective. He finds himself thinking back to the previous lockout; Alexander Ovechkin missed his rookie year. (So did Geno).

‘Delayed’ – that was the word most people use. Alex’s rookie year was delayed.

Sidney wonders what they’ll say about this year, this season.

Geno is in a bar when Sidney calls. He laughs when Sidney apologises.

“No, no,” he says, the edges of the words husky and somehow sounding more Russian than English. “Don’t call back later. Talk now.”

The voices in the background are muffled – the bass line of the music thumps down the connection. Geno must move outside because the music fades and Sidney can hear cars, hear Geno’s laughter when he tells Sidney he is out with the Gonch. They are downtown, at a friend of a friend’s bar playing pool. Gonch is winning by a sizable margin.

“He is old man, yes,” Geno says. “But still good.”

“Not a buzz kill like me?” Sidney jokes, because Geno’s drunken happiness has always been infectious.  

Geno snorts.

Okay. Point, Sidney thinks.

“Did you see my game?” Geno asks.

Sidney’s seen all of Geno’s games. 

“Colby says you’re playing like a Russian.”

Geno laughs – loud and booming. “I am Russian.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to throw the puck rink-wide across the blueline,” Sidney finds himself saying even though he knows it’s only going to make things worse.

“You think I am picking up bad habits?” Geno asks.

“Colby does.”

“Colby a Hab.”

And Sidney can’t help but laugh. “Yeah.”

“Tell him, he play like a Canadian.”

“That’s not an insult,” Sidney tells him, because it isn’t.

“Okay,” Geno says. “Tell him, he does not play like a Canadian.”

And okay. That’s a good one. Sidney tells Geno that.

“I know,” Geno says, sounding quite pleased with himself.

If Sidney is a horrible friend, Geno is worse.

 

 

 

(Colby is insulted when Sidney tells him. But also delighted.

“I knew there was a reason I liked that asshole.”

“Geno’s not an asshole.”

“He is. You’re just a bigger one so you don’t see it.”)

 

 

 

So yeah, everyone is waiting.

 

 

 

The thing is, Sidney can wait. He can. He has been waiting for so long. He can wait a few more months, maybe even a year. There are things for him to do here; practices to lead and events to attend, questions to answer and information to share.

He can wait.

But he doesn’t want to.

And that’s what it comes down to, really.

“I want to play,” he tells Geno.

Geno – Geno exhales slowly. “Okay.”

 

 

 

Gennady Velichkin, the general manager of Metallurg Magnitogorsk calls his agent first thing in the morning.

Sidney signs with them by the afternoon.

That is that. Only it isn’t.

There are visas and permits and insurance and he has to officially register with the KHL.

It all takes time.

There is press too. Sidney has never felt comfortable being labelled the face of the NHL, but after the news leaks of him signing with the Metallurg Magnitogorsk, the media goes into a tail spin. ‘The face of the NHL playing in the KHL’; in a dead news cycle it’s a readymade headline that instantly saturates the media landscape. Everyone wants a sound bite, something to put on Twitter and gossip about in _Deadspin_. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone is reading into his decision.

As a rule, Sidney tries not to read his own press. He has an agent for a reason.  

Hockey is a sport, but everyone wants a narrative.

The lockout might be a plot point, Sidney knows better than to typecast himself more than he already has.

Colby, of course, is a dick when he calls. “Does your European gap year mean that mean the season is cancelled? Because that’s what people are saying.”

“Fuck you and them,” Sidney retorts. 

“Fuck yourself too,” Colby says without missing a beat but of course he would. “I know you wanted to find yourself before heading off to college, but I had hoped you would have done it on your own time.”

Colby starts to laugh. Colby is a douchebag. Sidney knows this.

When Colby calms down, he says, “On the upside, apparently you’re not uninsurable. Go you.”

“I was never uninsurable,” Sidney hisses at him.

“Not now, I guess,” Colby offers. “Also, is this why you made me watch KHL games?”

“You didn’t watch them. You got drunk and fell asleep on Nealsy.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“I’m not your kid. That doesn’t work on me.”

“I wish it did.”

“I bet you do.”

On the other end of the line, Colby sighs. “So you’re really going to the USSR.”

Sidney knowledge of Russian history isn’t fantastic but he knows enough to know that the USSR is more than a Beatles reference.

“I’m going to play.”

“With Geno,” Colby hums.

“With Metallurg Magnitogorsk,” Sidney corrects, even though even he knows that isn’t true.

 

 

 

(Sidney has told worse lies. He’s told better ones too).

 

 

 

The night before Sidney is due to fly out, he thinks about contacting Mario. Maybe just to say goodbye. It’s foolish really. Sidney’s never been foolish, but he feels it when he catches himself thinking of fanciful ways of contacting Mario. It’s childish really. All of it.

The gag order will be lifted eventually. It’s just temporary. It’s all temporary. This is what Sidney repeats to himself. Truthfully, he could probably get away with a call; abet an indirect one to Nathalie. But he doesn’t try. Everyone has had choice made for them. Sidney might not want to abide by all of the guidelines set by the NHLPA and the NHL, but that isn’t the point. If he wants to play, he has to act like he does. The season hasn’t been cancelled yet. The lockout doesn’t have to end in the cancellation of the season.

It could end at any time. It could end next week. It could end tomorrow.

Optimism isn’t nativity. He refuses to believe otherwise.

“You wouldn’t,” Geno says when he calls.

“And you do?” Sidney asks.

“Me?” Geno laughs. “I know it’s best to trust you. Not always smart. But best.”

Over the phone, Geno sounds happy, relaxed. Sidney arrival has been timed to coincide with a row of at home games to allow for maximum exposure for the Metallurg Magnitogorsk organisation. It’s been a while since Sidney debuted anywhere. His rookie year with the Pens was something, but Metallurg Magnitogorsk seems to be something else.

“Yes, yes,” Geno agrees. “We all have been told how to act, what to say.”

“You too?”

“Oh yes. Front office tells us to be nice. To smile. To make good first impression.”

The truth is the front office probably did. It’s funny how much of playing hockey is actually about playing for the cameras.

“But don’t worry,” Geno chirps. “I told guys no need. You used to bad behaviour. You go to lockout talks.”

Sidney snorts.

“I see you soon,” Geno says after a beat.

Sidney – “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

 

 

 

(In the end, Sidney texts a few of the guys before his car picks him up the following morning. They all did the goodbye thing at the last practice, but, well, Sidney texts them anyway).

 

 

 

The flight itself is a non-event. It could be better. It could be worst.

Geno picks Sidney up at the airport. He smiles when he spots Sidney.

“Long time,” he says, gathering Sidney into a hug.

Sidney – his fingers twitch and then clench the fabric of Geno’s sweater just as Geno lets Sidney go. It’s awkward. But Sidney’s used to his timing being all wrong. So is Geno. But now his smile is bright and on the drive into Magnitogorsk, he talks easily. Most of it is all stuff Sidney’s heard before; about the team and the coach and Geno’s mother looking forward to seeing him.

Exhaustion is catching up on Sidney, but he listens.

Geno makes it sound like Sidney’s timing is perfect. Like he couldn’t have come at a better time.

Sidney doubts that’s true. It isn’t a fluke that Metallurg are near the top of their conference’s rankings.

Geno though, grins when Sidney tells him. “Could always be better.” 

But he would say that.

Sidney shakes his head. “You’ve said that before.”

“So have you,” Geno grins.

Sidney’s said a lot of things.

Settling back into the passenger seat, Sidney rests his head against the window. The glass is cool against his cheek. Outside the sky is dark and hangs low above them. By the time Geno pulls up in front of his house Sidney is half asleep. Originally, Sidney planned to stay in the team dormitory. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, modern, and honestly, it was one of the best options for accommodation in Magnitogorsk. However when Geno found out, he dismissed the idea outright and insisted on Sidney staying with him. And that was it as far as Geno was concerned.

“You always say you want to visit,” Geno smiles.

Sidney makes a face. “Remember you said that when I’ve worn out my welcome.”

“You wear out welcome?” Geno laughs, turning his indicator on and turning smoothly into a wide, suburban street. “Never.”

Geno’s joy has always been infectious. Even gritty and sleep deprived, Sidney can’t help but shake his head as Geno pulls his car over and turns off the ignition. From the curb, Geno’s house looks little like his home in Pittsburgh. Situated in the German district, it is grand but in a somewhat faded way. Though once it must have had a purposeful sharpness to the symmetry of the design, the decades have made it softer, like a faded photograph. Framed by over grown trees that have cracked the pavement, it looks worn in, maybe. Lived in. But it would be, Sidney expects as he gets out of Geno’s car.

“Home,” Geno says, and Sidney supposes it is.

With his eyes following the roofline, Sidney is caught off guard when Geno lets Jeffrey out. All Sidney sees is a tan streak of dog rushing at him before he is knocked off balance. Stumbling, Sidney hears Geno laughing.

“He missed you,” Geno says.

Dogs and children are easy, Sidney knows this.

Patting Jeffrey, Sidney follows Geno inside. 

Geno’s mother must have been by because the house is warm and smells of her cooking.   

“She cooks for you,” Geno says. “She not cook for me at home. But she makes dinner for you.”

Sidney shakes his head. But Geno nods. “True.”

Taking off his coat, Sidney stretches a little, trying to work the kinks out of his back. From behind the oven, Geno watches as he heats up the food. His eyes are soft, happy. It’s been a while. Tomorrow Sidney will skate. Tomorrow he will skate after an official welcoming event organised by the team. But although it is only eight or so hours away, it doesn’t quite feel like that.

Stepping out into the living room, Sidney calls Pat and checks in with him.

Some things are habit. Other things aren’t.

It’s important to have a routine. There isn’t much left of Sidney’s, but he makes do.

 

 

 

When Sidney was a rookie, Mario pulled him aside early on and invited him to stay with his family. At the time, Sidney should have been too young to know what it meant. But he did. Pat, his parent – they worried. Sidney supposes they still worry. Sidney isn’t good with people. That’s why he has them to navigate for him. But Mario was different. Mario was easy.

Geno was easy too. Even when they couldn’t understand a word the other said, Geno was always easy.

When Sidney shows up at the arena with Geno the following morning, the press are already waiting.

“Sid is big deal here,” Geno teases.

Sidney rolls his eyes.

While still in Pittsburgh, Sidney’s first day down to the minute detail. Now, Sidney feels groggy and nervous during the meet and greet with the local and national press. Greeted by applause as he shakes hands with Viktor Rashnikov, the team owner, Sidney’s body feels like it is in two places. When he pulls his new KHL jersey in Metallurg Magnitogorsk’s colours over his head, the barrage of camera flashes almost blind him. Beside him, Velichkin, and Paul Maurice are smiling. Their expressions are more open than Sidney is used to. But he could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He tries not to focus on them. Instead he makes himself smile and take question after question. The team provided an official translator. She is a small, middle aged woman who earlier introduced herself as Eliza. She stands by his shoulder the entire day, though he is unsure why. Most of the conversations held with him are conducted in English. A courtesy, he knows. Once or twice he is asked, about his Russian. The question makes Sidney wince.

“Geno’s taught me how to say ‘thank you’ and ‘please.’ His mother taught me how to say ‘dinner was delicious,’” Sidney offers, getting a laugh. “But I’m sure I will learn more here.”

And Sidney supposes he will.

On the ice, the practice is more akin to a showcase. From the outside of the rink, photographers group in clusters, and the camera crews stake out sections of the bleachers.

Magnitogorsk Arena was opened in 2007. It is one of the newer arenas in Russia. Though it holds around ten thousand people less than the Consol, it represents the new image of the KHL. As such, any opportunity for publicity is taken advantage of.

But though the practice is a spectacle, it isn’t treated as such by Metallurg’s coach.

The coach, Paul Maurice, is Canadian and a former NHL coach. Under his leadership practice is a series of rounds. Paul coaches, the assistant coach translates, and the players turn their heads and listen at different times. The sound of Paul’s voice, and the style he trains his team in, is familiar. But Sidney has arrived part way into the season. The practice schedule that Sidney had designed for himself in Pittsburgh kept him fit and ready, but it is clear after only a few minutes on the ice that he is fresh on the ice where the other players are seasoned. During the warm up drills they move with the surety only muscle memory can provide while he relies on his body to carry him through. He can rely on it now. But it isn’t in sync with the team. That much is obvious. Used to each other in a way that only comes with time, Sidney feels out of place. They are a team. He is – he doesn’t know what he is. 

Geno checks Sidney, once, when Sidney is distracted.

“Rusty?”

“Fuck you,” Sidney swears, skating after him.

 

 

 

(Of course, it’s that moment that is captured and broadcast to the world).

 

 

 

In the days after Sidney’s arrival, the press is mixed.

Halfway across the world, Pat is reserved with his judgment.

“Russia is a different market,” he offers when Sidney presses him.

Sidney knows that.

 

 

 

Geno gives Sidney a day or so to sleep, but only just. Then there are friends and family and Sidney already knows Geno’s parents but now he is invited to have dinner in their home.

His mother greets him warmly when Sidney arrives, kissing his cheek fondly.

“Sidney,” she says, cradling his jaw in her hands. “Welcome.”

She is kind. Geno’s entire family is kind. This isn’t new to Sidney. Their generosity and sincerity was always apparent when they stayed Geno in Pittsburgh. But here in their home, Sidney feels it all the more acutely. Before dinner is served, Sidney sits with Geno’s father. In the kitchen Geno and his brother Denis badger their mother, sneaking slices of bread. Sidney’s never really had the chance to get to know Denis. According to Geno, Denis owns a small business. His job doesn’t lend itself to holiday time and as such Denis doesn’t visit Geno often, and when he does, he doesn’t stay for long.

During dinner, Denis is a quiet steady presence next to Sidney. Occasionally he joins the conversation, but for the most part he listens quietly. Up close it is striking how alike he and Geno are. Like Geno, Denis’ dark eyes are reserved and long limbs have to fold up in order to fit into the small chair. Many of his mannerisms – the way he ducks his head when Geno makes him laugh, the way he leans back in his chair after he finishes his meal – are familiar too. All known to Sidney, even though Denis isn’t.   

It’s seems strange to think that Sidney doesn’t know Denis when Sidney knows Geno so well.

Geno’s met Taylor a few times over the years. Not often or for any significant length of time, but they like each other. Or so Sidney assumes going by how they took such pleasure in exchanging embarrassing stories about him last time she visited. Denis doesn’t seem like the type to share embarrassing stories about Geno. But it is clear that he is proud of Geno; it’s clear they all are.

Hometown hero. That’s what Geno’s being billed as, among other things.

Geno looks at Sidney affectionately when Sidney says as much on the drive home.

“Not so much,” he says. “Not so much.”

 

 

 

Sidney has never been good at reading between the lines. Here in Russia, he knows there is much he doesn’t know. Much too, that isn’t said.

Magnitogorsk is a city seeped in history. Geno’s past is recent history compared to most of it. There isn’t really much a comparison between the two.

But not everything works like that.

 

 

 

Geno basically played his first game the very same day he was signed.

Maybe Sidney is too used to having the build-up of the team training camp and the soft opening of the pre-season. He knew coming into the KHL that he would be flying in with his skates laced and be expected to play before his first week was out. But in reality there is no time to settle. No time to get over his jet lag. The practice – Sidney’s third – the day before the game, runs for a little under an hour. Sidney could skate for longer. But it’s difficult to know his limits like this. Difficult to judge what to give and what to keep in reserve. This isn’t training camp. It isn’t pre-season either. There is no room for error or adjustment.

“Hit the ground running,” Paul says, clapping Sidney’s shoulder as he steps off the ice.

Sidney nods. That’s one way to put it.  Sink or swim, he supposes.

Yet even then, he doesn’t know how he feels before the first game. Everything is different now. Here, there is no routine other than the team routine. Sidney knows some allowances are made for some players – for him – but team unity is emphasised in a way he isn’t exactly used to. The night before his first game, Geno drives them to the team dormitories where the entire team stays before each home game. Geno and Gonch are sharing a room. Sidney, the last arrival, is bunking alone.

His room is small, but neat. Through the walls he hears some of the other players arriving. He was introduced to all of them on his first day. A few of them he’d heard of before. A lot he hadn’t. Metallurg is a young team, really. A lot of the talent they’ve signed are ones they are hoping to develop.

“Good strategy,” Geno says, when Sidney mentions it. “Good team.”

Sidney makes a face. “You’re biased.”

“So? We both are about Pens.”

Geno’s got Sidney there. He knows it too.

Bouncing a little on Sidney’s bed, Geno grins and goes over the schedule of how game days go down while Sidney settles in. Sidney knows, has been told, has learnt the routine off by heart. But there is a certain kind of comfort found in going over it again. Sidney knows routines are just about control – he can’t control the game but he can control himself. The artificiality of order; Jon would say that. To him, superstition is just window dressing. He’s still in Chicago, still working, still waiting. But according to what people are saying, he might be heading to Europe soon

Sidney’s closes his eyes for a moment. Tomorrow Sidney will start playing.

It might be a false comfort, but it’s comfort nonetheless to listen to Geno make it all sound like it’s going to be easy. 

 

 

 

(It takes Sidney a long time to fall asleep after lights out).

 

 

 

The game is quick, brutal, and they only just manage to scrape a win out of it.

Sidney doesn’t score any points. For the most part he is forced to focus on the defence players on the opposing team.

“Everyone wants a piece of you,” Geno jokes in-between shifts, like it is something funny.

It isn’t, but Sidney can’t help but laugh.

He’d like to see them try and catch him first.

And that is his first game.

 

 

 

The following game is better and worst.

Somehow, it feels faster and slower than a NHL game.

“Russian hockey,” Geno says like that says it all, when they get home afterwards.

 

 

 

Living with Geno is – Sidney doesn’t know.

He’s never been much of a house guest. But he’s never lived with anyone. He’s lived in Mario’s guest house, and when he was a kid, he shared a room at Shattuck-St Mary's. But squatting in a guesthouse or sharing a room is different than living with someone – living with Geno.

Sidney isn’t sure how it is meant to work. He doesn’t know what is polite and what is rude. With Mario and Nathalie, Sidney sat at their dining table and helped out with their kids’ homework, but that always felt easy. Felt like family, like home. Here, if there are lines, he can’t see them. For the most part he and Geno share the same schedule. Lingering jetlag makes Sidney feel misplaced. He gets up at the right time, but his body feels like it’s wrong. Like he’s late and early, and sitting in the passenger seat of Geno’s car on the way to the arena, Sidney tries to keep track of it all. 

It’s strange not to be captain. It’s been so long since the only person Sidney had to worry about was himself.

During practice, he ends up staying late and working with the three goalies. The angles in the rink are different. Or they feel different. Ari Ahonen and Georgi Gelashvili do not seem to mind. Alexander Pechurskiy, the third goalie, grins a lot from behind his mask. It’s been a few years, but Sidney still remembers him. In retrospect, it was a pity he only played one game for the Penguins before going to the WHL. However that’s how it pans out sometimes. Since then, he’s grown into himself as a player.

Together, they stay late, working on each other’s reactions, each other’s skills.

The goalie coach doesn’t speak much English, neither does Pechurskiy. If Geno didn’t stay late to work with Ahonen and Gelashvili, Sidney isn’t quite sure how it would work.

“I think you make it work,” Geno grins, while they get changed afterwards.

Sidney doubts that.

“You made it work with me.”

“You’re different,” Sidney says without thinking because Geno is.

Shaking his head, Geno laughs. “Not so different.”

 

 

 

There are things Sidney can’t think about; things he can’t talk about.

But that isn’t saying anything new.

 

 

 

At night, Geno drags Sidney out on the town with his friends.

Sidney keeps expecting for Geno to get tired of him. It isn’t Geno’s job to babysit him. People forget that. (Geno forgets that).

There are three other Canadians in the team. Sidney doesn’t really know Justin Hodgman, the young centre. But he does know Cal O'Reilly who was a Pen for a few months during the 2011-12 season, and Brent Sopel, most memorably from the Stanley cup winning Blackhawks 2009-10 team. Sidney thinks he has enough in common with them – that they know enough people in common – to exchange enough small talk to fill awkward silence between drinks. But Geno keeps his arm slung over Sidney’s shoulder most of the night.

“My friend Sid,” he introduces Sidney as. “The one I told you all about.”

“The one who wouldn’t visit you until the NHL forced him out of the states?” Oksana asks when she arrives, hooking her chin over Geno’s shoulder.

Geno laughs. “Yes, that one.”

Geno and Oksana aren’t currently dating. They are friends. Or at least that’s what they say they are at the moment. Sidney doesn’t know. He never knows when it comes to them. It changes so often.

Slipping out of Geno’s arms, she smiles at Sidney, and kisses his cheek affectionately. “You look well.”

“You too,” Sidney tells her.

She actually looks lovely. It’s been a while since Sidney last saw her, but she’s the kind of person who makes things like that not matter at all. She has kind eyes like Geno. It is good to see her. He thinks the feeling is mutual.

Lacing her fingers through Sidney’s and takes over the job of introducing him to Geno’s friends. Geno has a lot of them. This isn’t a surprise. Not really. Geno would have a lot of friends. They are loud and bright and many of them have known Geno since he and Denis were children. Together they fill VIP tables and drink and laugh and Sidney smiles. He smiles and he nurses a beer and when people come up, he smiles and nods when they ask for autographs and photographs.

“I can–” Oksana starts to say after the first group, but Sidney shakes his head.

“It’s okay.”

It is. Or it’s become okay. That’s the same thing. Or close enough. 

Later in the night when Sidney is nursing a beer instead of drinking it, Geno leans against Sidney in photographs.

“Looking good,” he breathes against Sidney’s neck.

Sidney starts.

He feels Geno’s lips break into a smile, and –

Sidney isn’t sure what the photographs will look like in the light of day.

Made loose and rose cheeked from liquor; Geno is the loudest and brightest person in the club. His friends’ crowd around him, telling jokes, dragging him on and off the dance floor, drinking and smoking and this is where Geno goes during the summer. This is where he goes he when leaves Pittsburgh. These are the people who have him when Sidney does not.

Sidney – Sidney goes and sits back down at the table.

His drink is gone. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands now. A teammate, one of the rookies, Yaroslav Kosov, comes over to talk to Sidney.

Kosov was drafted by the Florida Panthers last year. He’s a good kid. Though he was a fifth round draft pick, Sidney wouldn’t be surprised if he’d be one to keep an eye on in the future. For now, he enthusiastically peppers Sidney with question in his halting English. Nodding and using his hands to gesture, he seems to want to know everything about everything. It’s kind of a lot all at once and Sidney is relieved with Gonch appears at Sidney’s side with a fresh drink and a request to introduce Sidney to some more of his friends. His ‘friend’s’ turn out to be his wife who kisses him hello and pulls him down to sit with them.

“You looked like you needed saving,” Ksenia Gonchar says.

Sidney doesn’t know how to answer her without insulting Kosov.

She nods. “He’ll be Kevin Dineen’s problem soon enough.”

“True,” Sidney allows.

The corner of her mouth twitches. Sidney likes her. He always has.

He ends up catching a ride home with her and Gonch towards the tail end of the night. The club – Geno – is still going strong, but Sidney is flagging. He can feel the edge of his smile slipping and his composure beginning to fail. He’s been nursing drinks all night, and maybe it’s just being sober in the middle of a group of people ranging from tipsy to drunk, but he reaches his limit earlier than he expects.

When Gonch announces that he and Ksenia are heading home to relieve the babysitter (his mother), Sidney doesn’t think twice about leaving with them.

 

 

 

It’s early when Geno is dropped off. Sidney wakes to the sound of someone beeping their horn goodbye. He’d wager a few of Geno’s neighbours wake at the sound too. Pushing the covers back, Sidney pads out to the hallway to check on him; Geno might be an affectionate drunk, but he’s also well known to be a clumsy one. There is nothing Paul would want less than Geno turning up to practice nursing a black eye or a sprained ankle.

From the hall, Sidney hears Geno stumble around, giggling to himself. But when Sidney reaches the alcove just near the entrance foyer, he stops when he sees the glint of Oksana’s pale hair catching the low light of the porch light shining through the windows. She and Geno are tangled together, each trying to hold the other up and doing an awful job at it. Sidney exhales slowly at the sight.

He can never keep track of them. Sidney knows better than to try.

He goes back to bed.

 

 

 

No one knows exactly what Oksana and Geno are too each other.

But then again, maybe it’s just Sidney who doesn’t know.

 

 

 

In the morning Sidney gets up early and takes Jeffrey for a run. The neighbourhood is still an unknown landscape to Sidney, but he doesn’t see how he can get too lost, especially not with Jeffrey lumbering by Sidney’s side. Together they run through the dark, empty streets. It doesn’t take long until Jeffrey start to flag. Geno has always been soft with him, more likely to feed him scraps from the dinner table and play a lazy game of fetch than take him for a good long run.

After a few blocks, Sidney slows to a walk. He’ll have to build Jeffrey up to the half mile.

By the time he gets back to Geno’s house, the neighbourhood is starting to show signs of life. The sky is still dark, but the edges are shot with white and blue. The streetlights are flickering on and off.

From the sidewalk, Sidney watches people leave for work and kids watching their morning cartoons. A few dogs – domesticated, Sidney thinks – are nosing around the streets. Geno says that’s normal. But Sidney flinches when one darts across the street, completely oblivious to the threat of traffic.

Pulling out his phone, Sidney goes through the messages he received while he was asleep.

Colby sent most of them. The majority are about his son. The rest are about the latest season of some reality TV program about the Jonas Brothers.

Sidney doesn’t really know how or why they are friends.

Feeling petty, Sidney sends a few snippy texts back to him and by the time he finishes Jeffrey is pulling on the leash again. Slipping his iPhone back into his pocket, Sidney picks up his pace, breaking back into a brisk jog.

When gets back to Geno’s place, Sidney find Geno standing in the living room looking rather hung over and pathetic.

“You spoil him,” Geno says when he catches sight of Sidney taking the leash off his dog.

“No, that’s you,” Sidney tells him, because Geno really does. Before Sidney came, Jeffrey was chewing up Geno’s dress shoes with boredom. “He needs exercise.”

Geno makes a face. “Practice is soon.”

Sidney checks his watch. “In about an hour.”

He looks at Geno. He really doubts Geno will make it without Sidney’s intervention.

Geno doesn’t say anything.

Sidney doesn’t either. But he doesn’t know what to say. He hardly ever does.

The conversation falters.

(Oksana is nowhere to be seen).

 

 

 

Much later, when Sidney is alone, he thinks of how Oksana and Geno looked together; drunk and tangled together as they stumbled through Geno’s door. How Geno’s hand fitted in the small of her back and how she fitted against his side. How easy they made it look; drunk and happy and bright. They’ve been together on and off since Geno was a teenager. No matter how painful or drawn out their break-ups are, they always seem to find their way back to each other.

Currently Oksana’s meant to be dating a soccer player. Sidney thinks they were introduced to each other on one of the numerous nights on the town Geno has been dragging Sidney out on since he arrived. He looks familiar in the photograph in the social pages of the local paper Geno’s showed Sidney. They look good together. But Oksana looks good with everyone.

Maybe it’s just a matter of time.

 

 

 

In Sidney fourth game, he scores his first goal. Then, his second and third.

After tthat, it’s like a dam has been broken.

Sidney has never felt better.

Paul is pleased. So is Geno. They aren’t on the same line anymore, but after each goal he goes wild from the bench. Shouting and swearing and that’s familiar. Sidney remembers that. Sidney gets used to it again.

After the press finish with them, Geno and the team take Sidney out to drink.

“To get drunk,” Sergei Fedorov says, grinning.

Normally Sidney would decline, but he can’t really, not here. So he doesn’t.

The team is a mix of young players that are so green Sidney feels old, and a scattering of veterans. Fedorov is one of them. Fedorov is a good guy. A great player. He knows the game inside out. Knows his team inside and out. After less than a week, Sidney gets the feeling that Fedorov knows him too.

“No, no,” Fedorov shakes his head. “I just know Lemeuix. It’s like a short cut.”

Fedorov’s played against Mario. 

Fedorov’s played against almost everyone. He’s still going strong now.

The way he plays – a few times it had been all Sidney could do not to pick up his phone and call Mario. During Fedorov’s shifts on ice, he plays like he was one step ahead of everyone else. There are moments where it feels like he is everywhere, in every position and seeing every angle. Sidney has never played with anyone like Fedorov – never been on the same line with someone like him. Now, at the bar he sits Sidney down the rookies and tells him to make friends.

“It’s important.”

He then turns to the rookies and tells them something in Russian that makes them roll their eyes and disappear on Sidney one by one until it is just him minding their coats.

“Just like home,” Geno says, when he comes over.

Sidney can’t help but make a face.

Geno laughs. “Watch out. They might come back and talk to you. You are still a little novel. Not much. But don’t worry. They won’t think that soon.”

Geno’s a bit of an awful person, really. Sitting himself down, he throws his arm over the back of the both and motions to a waitress for another round. For a moment the sight is so familiar, that Sidney almost forgets. So many nights with the Pens ended with Geno grinning at Sid across an abandoned booth.

“You’re not going to make it to practice tomorrow, are you?”

Geno shakes his head. “No. Probably not.”

“Good thing it’s optional.”

Geno grimaces. “Paul very Canadian. Not quite optional.”

Sidney shakes his head. “Too bad for you.”

Geno makes a face. “You here one week, you make me better.”

Sidney thinks Geno’s got that wrong. But he grins nonetheless. “Three months without me and you revert back into your eighteen year old self.”

His comment makes Geno laugh. “So cruel.”

“Got to be cruel to be kind.”

 

 

 

Geno at eighteen was someone Sidney never really knew.

From what he’s heard, Geno was angry and penned in, ambitious and driven. Sidney knows the latter, but he hasn’t had much experience with the former qualities. But at eighteen Geno was manipulated into staying in Magnitogorsk to play for Metallurg when he should have been in Pittsburgh with the Penguins. He should have been there to welcome Sidney as a rookie. It shouldn’t have been the other way around.

The longer Sidney is here, in Geno’s home, in his hometown, the more Sidney realises how much he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand.

So much is said between the lines. So much is implied.

Language is subtle and complicated. Culture is so subtle and complicated.

When Geno left for the NHL, he left so much. Risked so much.

It’s not something Geno talks about. Sidney honestly can’t ever remember Geno willingly bringing it up. The press has recorded Geno’s life history, condensed the most painful passage of his life into a few paragraphs. How much does Sidney know through intermediaries? It’s difficult to know. Difficult to tell how much was offered freely and how much was given up to journalists.

There is one time, during the post-game press scrum, when Sidney sees Geno grin flicker a little. He shakes it off and is back to normal within an instant. If Sidney hadn’t noticed – if Sidney didn’t know Geno – maybe he wouldn’t have seen anything was amiss at all. Gonch though, eyes Geno carefully.

“What happened?” Sidney asks afterwards.

Gonch shakes his head. “Not now.”

It isn’t until when the team go out for dinner that the incident comes up again while Sidney is talking to Evgeny Biryuko while waiting for Geno and Gonch to return from the bar with the first round of drinks. Sidney can’t say he’s had much of a chance to get to know Biryuko, but he does know the he and Geno grew up together. Both were products of the Metallurg Magnitogorsk’s hockey programs.

Together they stumble through a fractured conversation, half in English, and half using their hands.

“It is not Zhanya fault,” Biryuko says at one point.

“What isn’t his fault?” Sidney asks, but then Geno is back and Gonch is handing Sidney a drink.

Whatever Biryuko was going to say, is forgotten.

 

 

 

A few days later they fly out for a series of away games. The first is in Moscow against Dynamo.

Alex is delighted to see Geno and Sidney. Sidney is vaguely disappointed in himself to realise he’s somewhat pleased to see Alex. Maybe that’s the truest indicator that lockout has gone on for far too long.

“Lies,” Alex says. “We are the very best of friends.”

Sidney wrinkles his nose. (Geno laughs).

Together, the Alex takes them of them out of dinner to welcome them. Or to welcome Sid to the ‘Greatest city on Earth’ - his words.

Sidney only just manages not to snort. Because really.

(What makes it worse is the fact that the restaurant Alex takes them to is fantastic. They don’t even react when Sidney orders off the menu).

During the previous season, Alex suffered a slump of a kind. He was still performing at a level above the majority of NHL players, but he wasn’t performing at his best – and his best, as Sidney knows too well, is the best in the game. Since then, his level of playing hasn’t really improved, but he is lighter now. During dinner he laughs and drinks and signs autographs and slips and slides in and out of English depending on whom he is speaking to. His natural charm is somehow heightened, and it makes Sidney want to roll his eyes.

“I am loved,” he tells Sidney as they leave, without a trace of modesty.

Sidney has watched Alex’s last few games and seen how the crowds line up for the chance to meet him. Yes, Alex is loved.

Alex wraps an arm around Sidney’s shoulder and pulls him close. “You are not.”

No. Sidney isn’t. Not here. Not especially.

But he doesn’t need to be. That’s the difference between him and Alex.

 

 

 

(It isn’t much of a difference. Not really. Not when Metallurg loses the next day).

 

 

 

After the game, Sidney joins Geno and his team for drinks.

“Are you sure?” Geno asks before they leave.

Sidney shrugs.

He doesn’t normally volunteer. But this isn’t normal. Nothing is normal.

He wonders if this is how Geno feels in Pittsburgh.  

(Sidney’s been wondering that a lot).

 

 

 

Sidney drinks too much. Russian’s, he thinks. Russian’s.

At the end of the night, he somehow ends up at Alex’s place. It’s horrible. All top of the line media equipment and tacky dark leather furnishings and it’s overheated and everyone is still drinking. Geno is laughing and Alex is telling him to get the good liquor out because they have to celebrate and Sidney is swaying on his feet.

“Oh, Sid,” Alex says, when he notices. “Sid the Kid.”

Sidney makes a face. Makes a face and slips when he tries to push Alex away. Alex catches him. Catches him and carries him upstairs and dumps him onto a random bed.

“My bed,” Alex corrects.

“Go away,” Sidney tells him, petulantly.

“It’s my bed,” Alex says. “I can do what I want.”

Sidney flinches when Alex slings an arm over his waist and presses himself close and kisses Sidney like it is easy – like it is something they do.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Alex laughs between kisses.

“Don’t.” he tells Alex, elbowing him away. “You have a girlfriend.”

Alex smiles soft and sweet. “I do.”

Everyone knows Alex is hung up on Maria, but god. _God._

Sidney’s head hurts. He never should have agreed to go out with the team after the game. He should have ducked out early the moment he saw Alex and his teammates waiting for them at the club. Sidney isn’t eighteen. But he never learns and now Alex is kissing him again and tugging at his shirt. Alex, who has a girlfriend. God, Sidney thinks. God.

“It’s okay,” Alex says.

“You have a girlfriend,” Sidney repeats, because Alex can’t just say it’s okay. He rolls away from Alex. “Everyone has a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Alex says knowingly. He smiles. “Poor Sidney.”

“Shut up.”

“My room. My bed. My rules,” Alex laughs and presses himself closer. “Don’t be sad.”

 

 

 

So now Alex knows. Or he thinks he knows something.

But that’s not that much different than normal.

 

 

 

In the morning Geno doesn’t say anything when he finds Sidney in Alex’s bed.

His eyes are sharp and cool though and on the taxi ride back to the hotel to meet back up with the team he turns up the volume on the radio. Sidney looks out of the window. Moscow could be another world away from Magnitogorsk. Maybe that is Russia. Worlds and worlds lay on top of each other within the one country; rich and poor and the new world existing at the same time as the old, and Sidney’s head aches and aches.

Alex left bruises and bite marks scattered across Sidney’s skin. When he undresses in the locker room before the next practice, some of the guys hoot and holler.

“Good Russian girl, yes?” Sergei Mozyakin says.

Sidney makes himself shrug it off, but then Geno laughs, loud and cruel.

“Sanja,” Geno says.

The guys all roar with laughter.

Sidney tenses.

Geno is not cruel. Never cruel.

Apart from when he is, it seems.

Sidney has no experience with it.

Ducking his head, he focuses on getting ready.

 

 

 

When Sidney was a kid, parents and coaches from other teams used to harass him. They would shout abuse and make snide comments. Then on the ice, kids twice Sidney’s size would try and hurt him because they couldn’t out play him. Sidney can’t be sure, but sometimes he thinks that’s where it all started, the moment he folded himself inwards, into something distant and politely removed. Into something, not someone.

Then Mario took him in and gave him a home.

Sidney’s worked for nearly everything, but not for that.

 

 

 

Geno gets into a fight when they play Torpedo Nizhny Novgorod.

It’s bloody and half a dozen members of both teams are involved by the time Sidney and the other half of the team are pushing off the bench and getting onto the ice to back them up. The refs are only just less than useless, for once and the fight is broken up before they get there.

Geno skates back to the bench with a cut above his eyes, a ripped jersey, and bloody knuckles. He doesn’t look at Sidney.

On the other side of the rink, the team doctor is stitching Alexander Semin up.

He is as much of a mess as Geno. Perhaps more. But when he notices Sidney’s gaze, he grins, sly and knowing with blood staining his teeth.

Sidney holds his gaze until Semin looks away.

 

 

 

(Sidney should have known. Alex can’t keep a secret to save his life).

 

 

 

The next day the press is brutal.

Sidney hears it all first hand, than hears it again, second hand, from Pat.

“It’s a different league,” Pat says.

Sidney knows. He does.

Hockey is hockey. Except when it’s not.

 

 

 

The road trip drags.

They tie the following game, before losing the last three.

The press starts to call Sidney overrated. That isn’t new.

They don’t stop after he scores two game winning goals in a row. That isn’t new either.

Winning and losing is part and parcel of playing hockey.

Sidney knows this.

Being the subject of gossip is part of playing hockey too. Sidney learnt that early on in the game.

When they get back from the road trip, Sidney waits for Geno inside the front office for him to finish talking to management. Lately it feels like Sidney is always waiting for Geno – always needing Geno to drive him somewhere or translate something or explain something or introduce him to someone. 

Sidney always relied on Geno. But here, suddenly, it feels like he needs Geno for everything. No. Sidney does need Geno. Geno picks Sidney up and drives Sidney to practice and takes him to dinner with his family and introduces Sidney to his friends and is his captain and –

Looking down at his hands, Sidney makes himself inhale and exhale slowly.

Five minutes, he tells himself. Five minutes and Geno will be done and they can go home. Five minutes. Sidney can do that.

 

 

 

It isn’t five minutes. (It never is).

 

 

 

On the bus the team had talked about meeting up for a night out. Sidney still hasn’t recovered from the last one. Geno hasn’t looked at him since the last one.

But part of being on a team, is being part of the team. That is what Sidney’s father used to tell Sidney when he was young (younger than his teammates).

Here, now, it means Sidney goes out.

In the car Sidney flicks through his contact list on his phone, but there isn’t anyone he wants to talk to. Even if there was, the time zones difference means it would be a waste of a call.

Sidney isn’t like Geno.

Sidney only really has Geno.

That is all the more apparent in the evening when Geno drives them into the city to sit in VIP sections and drink free drinks. Not that much different from pizza hut dinners and orange slices after a juniors game. Different venue, same disconnect.

For the first time since arriving, Sidney feels out of place. Sitting pressed in between Kosov, who still seems fascinated by Sidney and Pechurskiy who has totally gotten over any novelty associated with Sidney wanting to stay after practice to run drills with him, he tries to talk to them. He’s been in Magnitogorsk for a while now. His Russian hasn’t improved at all really. Their English is just as fractured. It’s exhausting.

Language never felt like a barrier to Sidney when it came to Geno. Maybe it should have.

Exhausted and with his nerves close to shot, Sidney makes himself smile and nod and talk to Kosov, and Pechurskiy. They’re his teammates. Metallurg is his team. Sidney wonders if that’s how Geno feels about Pittsburgh.

Sidney never really thought of Geno being out of place in Pittsburgh. Geno was meant to be there, and had been there for every year of Sidney’s career but one. But here, there is something different about Geno. This is who Geno is when he is at home, Sidney finds himself realising as he watches. This is Geno at home.

One day this is the place Geno will return to and he won’t come back.

Sidney looks away.

For a little while he excuses himself from the booth and goes over and talks to the three other Canadians on the team. O'Reilly and Sopel are familiar to Sidney. Maybe in any other circumstance they wouldn’t seek each other out, but here, now, with Geno distancing himself from Sidney, they talk comfortably with each other.

“It’s different here, isn’t it,” Sopel comments while they wait to be given a table. 

Sidney nods. It is.

“I’m not sure what I expected,” O’Reilly says.

It’s different for them, Sidney knows in theory. They both came out to Magnitogorsk alone. Growing up away from home is something all hockey players are familiar with, both of them are half a world away from home, from their family. Sopel’s wife and kids are in Chicago. His life is in Chicago. But he, the three of them, are here.

Deep inside Sidney’s chest he aches for something he doesn’t have words for.

Across the bar Geno is dancing with some girls. Gonch and Fedorov are laughing at him.

When did home become an abstract thing?

Half way through the night, Oksana appears. With her hair pulled back from her face and her lips painted oxblood red, she smiles when she sees Sidney.

“Good game,” she says.

A little tipsy he leans into her. “Which one?”

She laughs. “Any of the ones you won.”

He supposes that works. He says as much. Tilting her head back, she smiles, and Sidney thinks he maybe can understand what everyone sees in her.

She is kind. She’s other things too. But Sidney likes her kindness, likes how she tries to hide it away like it’s a weakness she can’t help but indulge him with. He follows her when she leads him to the bar.

“You will get served before me,” she tells him.

He doesn’t think that’s true. But he buys her a drink nevertheless. It makes her roll her eyes at him.

“You are worse than Zhanya,” she sighs.

Not quite sure what to make of that, Sidney makes himself smile. That usually works.

She shakes her head at him and changes subjects. “You’ve been here a little while now,”

He nods. He has .

She smiles a little. “How are you enjoying Magnitogorsk?”

“Oh,” he says. “It’s great.”

He talks a little about the team, about the fans. It’s nothing he hasn’t said before. She deserves more. They both know it. But he doesn’t quite know how to give that to her. He thinks about running in the morning and about Geno tapping the steering wheel at red lights and about learning new plays – getting to know new players. So much is new. So much is different.

“It’s a great opportunity,” he tells her. It’s the truth, it sounds like a platitude though.

She gives him a look. 

“It is,” he says.

“It better be for the amount you’re costing,” she says, leaning back against the bar.

And Sidney –

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can’t be serious,” she tells him, her eyes narrowing. “My ex-husband is the conglomerate that Geno and Paul organised to pay your insurance premium,”

Sidney – Sidney didn’t know that.

Oksana laughs when he says that. “Oh, Sid. You can’t be that naïve. Geno didn’t get you here all by himself.”

People have called Sidney naïve before. But Sidney feels it now.

“What did he do?”

“What did he promise?” Oksana corrects. She shrugs. “I don’t know. All I know is my ex owns everything in Magnitogorsk. Everything, except me.”

“Not you?”

“Nope,” she smiles. “I’m the only person who is free in this entire city.”

Oksana is kind-hearted, but she’s learnt not to be. That’s what Geno said once. And of course Sidney only remembers that now. Over with the goalies, Geno is laughing and gesturing with his hands and Sidney didn’t even ask. He said he wanted to play and Geno made it happen.

 

 

 

Nothing comes easy. Nothing comes free either. Sidney doesn’t know how he could have forgotten that when he remembers everything else. 

 

 

 

Sidney doesn’t remember how he gets home. He vaguely remembers being bundled into a taxi with a couple of the rookies towards the tail end of the night. When he wakes, it takes him a moment to place where he is. Magnitogorsk. Geno’s home. Padding out into the kitchen, he startles a little when he walks in to find Geno’s mother behind the stove. 

It’s a surprise – though he and Geno often go over to have dinner with his family, it’s rarer than she drops over, especially unannounced. Sidney can’t help blushing. Dressed in a thread bare t-shirt and boxers, he feels unduly vulnerable even when she smiles and him and ushers him to sit at the kitchen counter.

“Sorry,” he apologises.

“No, no,” she shakes her head.

Serving him coffee and eggs, she smiles at him like she smiles at Geno.

Sidney isn’t used to such affection. He scoops up a mouthful of eggs and uses his few words of Russian to thank her. It isn’t enough. But it’s all he has to offer her. He’s been in Magnitogorsk for a while now. His Russian hasn’t improved at all really. Her English is just as fractured. They manage. But that says more about her than it does about him.

She pats his shoulder and disappears to wake Geno.

 

 

 

On the way to practice, Jon texts. _Signed with HC Lugano._ Short and to the point.

Sidney replies, _good luck._ He’s never had a way with words. But he means it. 

 

 

 

In the afternoon, after the on ice section of practice has concluded, Velichkin, the GM of Metallurg, pulls Sidney aside to have a private talk with management. Management turns out to be just him, and Rashnikov, the team owner.

“You’re a credit to the team,” Velichkin says.

The comment catches Sidney off guard. He isn’t sure if he should nod, or if he should complement the team in return.

He doesn’t get time to do either, because then Rashnikov says they want to make him an alternate captain.

“Oh,” Sidney says. “Okay.”

It makes Rashnikov laugh.

Paul claps him on the shoulder when Sidney steps outside of Velichkin’s office.

“Congratulations,” he says. 

“Thank you,” Sidney says, because he knows that one.

 

 

 

So Sidney is Geno’s alternate captain.

Sidney isn’t sure how that is meant to work. He’s been an alternate before, but not like this.

In the locker room, the guys clap him on the shoulder. It flusters Sidney a little. He should have outgrown the reaction. But clearly he hasn’t.

In the gym, after practice, he runs side by side with Fedorov on the treadmills. Even now, even after more than a month in Magnitogorsk, it’s a little surreal to think that Fedorov is Sidney’s teammate. For all the prosaicisms that Sidney has become used to saying and repeating, it’s is an honour to play with him, to see him dominate on the ice, to direct games, to change the course of them.

Matching his stride to Fedorov’s, Sidney concentrates on his breathing.

A few weeks before Sidney arrived, Geno was made captain.

From his living room, Sidney had watched Geno skate onto the ice with a C sown on his jersey.

The night before he left Pittsburgh, Sidney wonders what it will be like to see it in person.

It’s been a long time, but Sidney still remembers how it had felt to turn up to practice and see the team wearing his ‘C.’ He still remembers Geno wearing a ‘K,’ and Sidney can’t help but looking at the ‘C’ on Geno’s jersey when they next takes the ice. The ‘A’ on Sidney’s own jersey presses against his shoulder; heavy and full of meaning, Sidney carries it the best he can.

Metallurg hasn’t had a Canadian alternate before. Another first to add to the list – that’s what people are saying.

Geno isn’t saying anything. Hasn’t said anything.

In the evening, when they play HC Yugra, Sidney makes himself skate faster and faster each shift he is given.

If he learns anything from the KHL it is the value of speed.

Each hit he does takes is hard and intended to knock him down hard enough that he won’t get up afterwards. Nothing is done halfway here.  The ‘A’ on his jersey doesn’t change that. If anything it makes Sidney skate harder, faster, and more aware of the players snapping at his heels.

KHL is a different league. It’s making Sidney into a different player, he can feel it.

 

 

 

Alex isn’t one of Sidney’s friends. Sidney knows this. He does. But when Alex starts to call, Sidney keeps forgetting that.

“Do you know what I heard,” Alex says when he calls, not bothering with a ‘hello’ or a ‘how are you.’

Sidney doesn’t know. But he is sure Alex will tell him.

“They say you bad for team moral. Say you don’t like captain. Saying you want to be captain.”

Sidney bristles.

Alex laughs. “Is funny, yes?”

Alex has a horrid sense of humour. Everyone knows that.

Geno and Alex are friends now. They weren’t for a while, but they are now.

This is something Sidney knows – something most of the hockey world knows.

Geno hasn’t looked at Sidney since Moscow.

The bruises Alex left have mostly faded. The last few games have left new marks on Sidney’s body and sitting in the hard chairs in the press area, Sidney feels them. Pressing his fingers down on the one he has on his upper thigh, he doesn’t flinch when the reporter’s turn their focus on him.

 

 

 

It all comes to a head when Geno takes the team out for drinks.

Sidney is running drills with Paul after practice when Geno organises it. Sidney finds out later when half the team turn up at Geno’s place for the pre-party, or whatever drinking before heading out is called here.

Loud and uninhibited, Sidney hears them from his room.

On the phone with his father, he jumps when Fedorov thumps on the door.

“Ten minutes, kid,” Fedorov says. “If you’re not ready we’ll leave without you.”

It isn’t an idle threat. Sidney’s witnessed Fedorov abandon rookies at various clubs and bars across Russia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Ukraine.

“Sid?” Sidney hears his father ask.

“Sorry,” Sidney apologises. “I must have forgotten.”

“That isn’t like you.”

Sidney doesn’t suppose it is.

At the club everyone is drinking and Geno still isn’t looking at Sidney. From the bar, Sidney watches him sling an arm over the shoulder of a petite brunette, cheeks flushed from liquor and his lips brushing her ear as he leans close to speak to her.

Sidney tries not to react to the sight.

Fedorov buys shots and pushes them into Sidney’s hand.

“Drink,” he says.

Sidney tries to shake his head. But Fedorov covers Sidney’s hand with his, and brings the shot glass up to Sidney’s lips.

“Drink,” he tells Sidney.

Sidney thinks, _fuck it_ , and drinks the shot in one gulp.

“Good boy,” Fedorov praises. “Again.”

And it’s funny how easy things are when you don’t care.

By the time Fedorov has wondered off to badger the younger players, Sidney is a mess.

In the bathroom, Sidney splashes cold water on his face. His reflection blurs a little. The music is loud. The baseline goes right though him. It pushes against Sidney’s rib cage, making him feel trapped by his body. Overwhelmed, Sidney closes his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing. It hurts. He grips the edge of the basin. 

Inside his chest, his heart thumps and thumps.

Sidney misses the idea of home.

Behind him, someone jostles him and Sidney can’t do this here. He can’t do this at all, but especially not here.

Fuck.

Sidney can’t stay. He can’t leave either.

That’s what Pat warned him about back when Sidney first brought up the idea of playing in Russia. The KHL wanted commitment. They wanted people who would be there for the entire season. That’s what they told Sidney. That’s what Pat told Sidney.

Sidney’s been in Magnitogorsk for long enough have been made alternate captain. He’s scored points and goals and gotten used to Paul’s style of coaching and the rookies have gotten bored of him and Alex keeps calling him and apparently they are friends now and Sidney head aches. It’s. Sidney aches. He wants to miss home, but he doesn’t know what home is meant to mean.

For Geno, home is here. Home is a place. Home is Magnitogorsk. Sidney can see it.

When the first guy begs out – Sidney tags along.

“Sharing cab again,” Ahonen says, wirily. "Didn't you just sign a $104.4 million dollar contract?"

Ahonen leans against Sidney’s shoulder as they wait for a cab. He grins, and Sidney isn’t sure but he thinks they are friends. They’re on the same team, but there are so many teams and so many leagues and so many players. Yet here they are, huddling together, drunk and cold, waiting at the curb of Magnitogorsk’s newest night spot.

“My Russian is shit,” Sidney admits, not that it is a secret. “If I don’t share a cab, I don’t get home.”

The corner of Ahonen’s mouth twitches. “Maybe you should practice. I heard that helps.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sidney mumbles.

 

 

 

(Pat calls after the cab has dropped Ahonen off.

Sidney lets it go to message bank. He’ll call back later.

Routine isn’t everything).

 

 

 

In the morning, Geno makes them both coffee.

“You disappeared last night.”

Sidney tenses.

Geno closes his eyes. “Sorry.”

Sidney feels small and stupid and he hates it.

“Sid?” Geno asks.

Sidney nods quickly; an awkward too fast jerk of his head.

Geno exhales slowly.

Sidney – Sidney isn’t good at this. He watches Geno stands and takes Sidney’s empty mug, rinse it before putting it into the dishwasher. Geno’s hair is knotted and there are dark circles underneath his eyes. He smells like cigarette smoke and stale perfume. He doesn’t look anything at all like he did last night.

Sidney looks at his hands. “I think I should go stay at the team dormitory.”

“Sid,” Geno says, his voice still raw after a night of shouting to be heard in the smoke filled club.

Sidney shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal. Everyone knows I’m a shit house guest.”

That isn’t a lie. Sidney always stays past his welcome and he never ever notices.

He nods to himself. There. Done. That wasn’t too hard, Sidney thinks as he pushes away from the kitchen counter and starts to stand. But before he can get to his feet, Geno places his hand on Sidney’s shoulder.

“No, Sidney,” he says. “No.”

Sidney shakes his head, because he’s worked it out.

Geno makes a frustrated sound. “Don’t.”

“Geno,” Sidney tries, because he has too. 

But Geno shakes his head and steps closer, his hands brush Sidney’s. “No.”

Sidney feels his shoulders slump.

“Stay.”

“I –”

Geno leans close and presses his temple against Sidney’s. “Please.”

Sidney closes his eyes. He can’t speak. He only just manages a nod.

Geno exhales. “Good.”

 

 

 

Sidney feels off balance the rest of the day. He spends most of his time in Geno’s backyard throwing a slobbery old tennis ball for Jeffrey.

In the evening he comes inside and gets changed into something respectable for dinner with Ksenia and Gonch. It’s in the car, while waiting for the traffic lights to change, Sidney finds himself opening his mouth.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he tells Geno. Then, not sure if Geno needs more details, Sidney adds, “with Alex.”

“I know,” Geno says.

“I was–”

“We were all drunk,” Geno corrects.

But that isn’t it.

From the corner of his eye, Sidney looks at Geno properly for the first time in weeks. 

He looks tired. Worn thin. He’s been playing non-stop for months and he’s been team captain for weeks now.

Sidney hands twitch in his lap.

Geno is Sidney’s best friend. Best everything.

At the Gonch and Ksenia’s rented home, they sit next to each other while they wait for dinner to be served. With an arm slung over Gonch’s youngest daughter’s chair and his thigh aligned with Sidney’s, Sidney can’t remember the last time he saw Geno so at ease. It makes something deep inside him twist.

Over dinner, Sidney is quiet. Afterwards he helps Ksenia clean up while Geno helps Gonch put the girls to bed. There is something peaceful about washing dishes with her. Occasionally she chirps at him, telling him he missed a spot. It’s nice. Familiar. When they finish, Sidney looks over his shoulder to find Geno watching them. The expression on his face is so open that Sidney has to look away.

On the drive home, Geno turns the radio on. The buzz of the radio hosts voices lull Sidney. Outside the car window, the city is a mass of dark grey lines and angles.

Before Geno arrived in Pittsburgh, Sidney read that Magnitogorsk urban design was based on it. It was only after he arrived, he found out that that wasn’t true, that was only the original design. But like many things, it was just that. It never became anything more. The two cities don’t feel much alike. Maybe they could have a few decades ago, Sidney doesn’t know. He turns and watches Geno shift gears. The tendon’s in his arms flex and shift under his skin. The sight fascinates Sidney.

It’s funny, really. That was Sidney’s ice breaker; the similarities between Magnitogorsk and Pittsburgh. Stupid.

At the traffic lights, Geno taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

It’s still early, but it feels late.

Outside it is starting to snow. The darkness is thick and the traffic is bad even at this late hour. Inside the car, the heating it turned up high. It makes Sidney yawn and by the time Geno pulls into his driveway, Sidney is drifting off to sleep. He blinks awake when Geno turns the car off.

“Hey,” Geno says, his eyes soft and kind. “You okay going in?”

Sidney nods. But he doesn’t mind when Geno unbuckles his seatbelt for him. 

Sleepily, Sidney follows Geno to the door. The porch light switches on as they get close, bathing them in flickering yellow light. Under it, Sidney feels faded and thread bare. Like a version of himself seen through sepia lenses. He shivers a little while he waits for Geno to find his house keys.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he manages a tired smile when Geno look at him.

Geno pauses.

“You can say no,” he says, but Sidney doesn’t quite understand until Geno steps close and presses his lips against Sidney’s.

For a moment, Sidney freezes. Against him, Geno pulls back, but before he can, Sidney exhales a little. And that’s all it takes for Geno to reach up and touch Sidney’s neck gently. Sidney can feel Geno smile against Sidney’s lips.

When Geno ducks away, his cheeks are coloured. Sidney feels his heart race.

“Good,” Geno says. Or maybe asks. Sidney can’t tell.

Sidney nods. He is. It was.

Geno shifts his weight form one foot to the other. It starts to feel a little awkward, but that isn’t new. 

Sidney watches Geno fumble with his keys and Sidney thinks, okay. Okay.

 

 

 

Inside, Geno scratches a hand through his hair. Sidney’s never seem him so unsure.

Sidney heart is still racing. He feels it thump inside his chest. It’s like the music at the clubs Geno likes so much. It reverberates right though him. Geno must hear it – must have felt it when he touched Sidney.

From the entrance, Sidney watches Geno greet Jeffrey and put the leftovers his mother sent home with them into the fridge. It feels very familiar even though it all feels new at the same time. Shrugging off his coat and taking off his gloves, Sidney wonders if that’s it. He watches Geno. Watches him turn on the lights, the television. Sounds fills the room. Sidney picks up one or two words. Better than nothing. Or nothing. Probably nothing.

“I’m going to bed,” he says.

Geno looks up. His skin glows in the flickering light of the television set. He is strong and brave and kind and Sidney thinks, there is no one else. But when has that ever meant anything?

Sidney is meant to be an optimist. That’s better for speeches and PR and after-game-interviews. Maybe he is one. Maybe he isn’t. It’s difficult to tell. Maybe he isn’t anything.

“I’m going to bed,” he repeats, for lack of anything else to say.

Geno nods.

Sidney – Sidney goes to his room. He unlaces his shoes and unbuttons his jeans and pulls his Henley shirt over his head. His heart sounds so loud in the quiet.

Bed. Sleep. Practice in the morning. A game the day after next.

From his bathroom, Sidney looks up when he hears Geno knock at his door. Stripped down to his boxers and wearing an old Penguin t-shirt, he feels like Geno can see everything. Toothbrush still in his mouth, it takes Sidney a moment to spit out the mouthful of form and gargle.

Silently, Geno watches.

When Sidney wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, Geno steps into the en-suite.

“You can say no,” he says.

Sidney cocks his head to the side. “You said that before.”

Geno bites his lip. “It still stands.”

Sidney leans back against the counter. He doesn’t think he wants to say no. Around them the house is very quiet. Jeffrey has put himself back to bed and the street outside his window is empty. Sidney’s heart. God, his heart. It’s a wonder it hasn’t woken up the neighbourhood.

“I don’t want to say no,” Sidney says slowly.

Geno eyes are dark.

A few paces separate them. Sidney wonders if it would be different in Pittsburgh. If Geno would have kissed him and then they would have gone home separately and left it at that.

Sidney is not good with things like this. But he’s never particularly cared to be.

Geno is something else. Someone else.

Sidney takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Pushing off the counter, he moves to stand in front of Geno – moves until he is close enough he has to tilt his chin up to look at Geno. Through the thin cotton of his dress shirt, Sidney can feel the warmth of Geno’s body. It makes Sidney’s fingers twitch and Sidney thinks, okay. Okay.

“You can say no, too,” he tells Geno, because he thinks he should.

Geno shakes his head. “I not say no to you.”

Sidney – Sidney isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He touches the buttons on Geno’s shirt. Everywhere is overheated in Europe. The cotton of Geno’s shirt is thin, but Geno had sweated through it. Now, the fabric is wrinkled and pulled out of shape.

Sidney’s mouth dries. He wants.

When Geno ducks his head down to kiss Sidney, Sidney uses his hands to pin Geno wrists against the wall, to hold him there where Sidney wants him. Geno’s mouth is hot and tastes of the red wine Ksenia served them. His skin tastes of dried sweat and cigar smoke. Sidney tastes it on his tongue when he kisses the sharp edge of Geno’s jaw and down the length of Geno’s neck. 

“Sid,” Geno says. “Sid.”

Sidney pauses.

The bright bathroom light washes Geno out, makes him look equally used and wrecked.

He feels Geno getting hard against him – feels him tremble when Sidney presses a thigh between Geno’s legs. 

Sidney hasn’t really done this before.

But then, Sidney hasn’t done much of anything before.

It doesn’t prove much of a hurdle. Geno lets Sidney do what he wants, let’s Sidney bite and lick and wrap his fingers tightly around his wrists and hold him in place.

Maybe some things come down to instinct. Maybe it’s just Geno. Geno makes everything easy, always has.

Sidney feels desperate. He rocks against Geno, but after a while it isn’t enough. Geno is mumbling against Sidney’s neck, but it takes a while for Sidney to hear him.

“Please,” Geno says over and over again. “Please, let me touch you.”

And Sidney can’t say no to Geno; doesn’t want to say no.

“Anything,” Sidney tells him, and means it.

The moment he lets go of Geno’s wrist, (only one, Sidney has to hold onto the other, can’t let go completely), Geno is fumbling with his jeans and Sidney’s boxers and then he’s got his hand around both of their cocks and Sidney can’t catch his breath, can’t do anything but come hard and fast. When he does, Geno swears. It only takes a few more strokes for him to follow.

Afterwards when Sidney has caught his breath and his heart rate is starting to slow down, Geno takes Sidney’s wrist in his free hand and brings it to his lips and kisses it. His pulse is racing so fast under Sidney’s index finger. Still slow and hazy, it takes Sidney a moment to realises he’s still holding onto Geno’s other wrist; he has to make himself let go.

When Geno cleans them up, Sidney can’t help but look at the red impression his grip left on Geno’s pale skin.

Curious, he touches Geno’s wrist gently. Hurt and injury isn’t new to Sidney. But this isn’t that. Under his fingers, Gen’s skin feels hot.

Sidney kisses it. A mirror of Geno’s action.

Geno stills. His eyes dark and his breath gone shallow.

“Okay?” Sidney asks, not quite sure what he’s asking.

Geno nods.

 

 

 

Later, Geno pushes the sheets back on Sidney’s bed, and curls himself around Sidney, his breath hot against the back of Sidney’s neck.

They fall asleep like that.

 

 

 

Everything feels so fragile.

On the ice, things feel like they should between them, like they always have.

When Geno drags Sidney out with his friends, he rests his hand on the back of Sidney’s neck most of the night. Drinking freely, Geno stands too close, touches Sidney too much. Sidney has always been used to having Geno in his space. Geno always seemed to be an exception to the rule, but now, he – Geno is so much. So important. And Sidney can’t help but sways under Geno’s hand, feels his heart jump when Geno leans close and his breath goes short when Geno leans close, his lips touching Sidney’s neck when he wants to tell Sidney something.

When they get home, Geno pins Sidney against the door as soon as they get inside. His mouth hot and his hands fumbling with Sidney’s belt.

“Let me fuck you,” Geno begs.

Sidney hasn’t done that before.

It doesn’t matter as much as much as Sidney thought it would. He doesn’t think anything would.

His blood feels heated underneath his skin. Geno is bitting his lip and waiting and Sidney wants. He nods. Okay.

And Geno breaks.

He pushes Sidney into his room, and it’s clumsy. They’re both clumsy. Geno pulls at Sidney’s jeans and Sidney tries to slip out of his shirt and it’s too much happening all at once. Geno gasps, winded, when Sidney catches him in the ribs with a stray elbow. Sidney swears and Geno bites his lip.

“Please,” Geno says. “Sid. Sidney.”

His voice is shot and Sidney presses closer, touches Geno’s neck and his ribs and his slope of his hips and strokes Geno’s cock. As Sidney does, Geno arches back against the bed.

He looks so good. Sidney bites Geno’s bared throat and that isn’t enough. It isn’t nearly enough.

Closing his eyes, Sidney tucks his head under Geno’s chin.

“Please, please, please,” Geno whimpers.

“Okay,” Sidney tells him. “Okay.”

He lets Geno spread his hands either side of his ribcage and feels his breath catch when Geno exhales in a rush.

“Okay?” he asks.

Geno nods.

It takes Geno a beat, but he touches Sidney, touches his spine and rolls him over onto his back. Their knees knock as Geno repositions them, but Sidney shivers when Geno leans down and kisses both of them before trailing his mouth along Sidney’s thighs.

Geno closes his eyes when he reaches the hollows of Sidney’s hips. Sidney reaches down and lays his hand on the back of Geno’s head. His cock, hard and dark red twitches. Sidney can’t help but shift his hips a little. As he does, Geno presses his thumbs down into Sidney’s thighs and holds him down.

Sidney exhales.

“I never,” Geno starts to say. “Not with guys.”

Sidney nods.  He hadn’t though that Geno had. Oksana was so much to Geno for so long.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Geno asks.

Sidney nods. He doesn’t need experience or a lack thereof. Neither matter. Not really. Not now. His heart is racing and he feels Geno’s fingers digging into his hips. They have time.

Geno's wrecked by fine trembles, though.

Sidney twists his fingers into Geno’s hair and uses his grasp to pull Geno up and kiss him.

“Go slow,” Sidney says. He doesn’t need it, but he thinks Geno does and that’s okay.

It’s infuriating. But it’s okay.

Geno is gentle when he presses one finger into Sidney, then two, then three. He takes his time and Sidney lets him. It’s good. Geno’s fingers are long and it’s undoing them both. Geno’s lips are bitten red and his breath is short and Sidney swears, clenches his fingers around Geno’s forearm, and feels the muscles shift and flex under his fingertips. When Geno crocks his fingers just so, Sidney gasps and god. He wants. Wants and wants and then Geno is rolling a condom over his cock and ducking his head and kissing Sidney as he pushes inside. Geno’s large and although he tries not to rush, he does.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says.

Sidney can’t speak. He digs his fingers into Geno’s shoulder, holds him as tightly as Sidney can.

The first thrust forces all of the air out of his lungs. It jars his body and it unfamiliar and it hurts, but Sidney is used to hurt. It takes a while for it to become good – for Sidney to gasp and writhe and for Geno to swear and shake – for them to fall into a rhythm. By the time they find one, it doesn’t take long to lose it. Slowly coming undone, then quickly. Sidney bites his lip and Geno shakes and comes.

Geno collapse. Sidney can’t hardly think, can hardly breathe. He slips a hand between their bodies and touches himself while he rocks against Geno’s cock. Gradually, it starts to soften, but Sidney is so close. He doesn’t need much. He ducks his head into the crock of Geno’s neck and it doesn’t take much before he’s coming into his hand. 

Left breathless, it takes a while for Sidney to come back to himself. Geno kisses his neck lazily. Sidney closes his eyes and leans into Geno’s touch. 

“Better next time” Geno promises.

“It was good this time,” Sidney says.

 

 

 

After that they fall into bed as often as they can, stealing time in between practice and games and road trips and nights out – Geno pulls Sidney into dingy club bathrooms. His mouth tasting of free drinks and his shirt sticking to his back and it’s stupid. It’s all so stupid and reckless. They both should know better. Geno should know better. This isn't the place to get caught. But it's hard to remember - to think - when Geno is grinning and pressing his body against Sidney's.

“Fuck,” Sidney swears against Geno’s lips.

Geno grins, and falls to his knees.

Pushing his shirt up, Geno kisses Sidney’s belly as he tugs open Sidney’s jeans. His mouth is already red from the shots the guys have been buying and Sidney bites his hand so as not to groan when Geno swallows him. Sloppy and easy, Geno licks and sucks and isn’t careful with his teeth and it’s not very good but Sidney comes quick and easy and afterwards he jerks Geno off just as quick and dirty.

When Geno comes, he ducks his head into the crook of Sidney’s shoulder and shakes.

Sidney doesn’t understand how he can undo Geno so easily.

Lightening in a bottle. That’s what it feels like.

 

 

 

They are on a winning streak. Six in a row.

They feel invincible.

Sidney skates fast and faster each game. No one can touch him. No one gets close.

Exhilarated, he laughs when a journalist asks what’s gotten into him.

“I’m having a good time.”

“Good time?” Geno asks from where he is being interviewed.

Sidney laughs. “Good team.”

 

 

 

No one knows what’s going to happen with the lockout.

It’s a waiting game, everyone knows this. From Switzerland, Jon is philosophical.

“Something will happen sooner or later.”

He’s right, Sidney knows this. He just isn’t sure which he would prefer.

It comes to a head when the NHL and the NHLPA representatives meet in a secret location. People are saying that it’s the meeting that will end the lockout.

Running on a different time zone almost a day different to the States, Sidney doesn’t know what to think when Pat calls to give him the heads up.

Geno doesn’t speak about it until the press question him, even then he doesn’t say much.

 

 

 

The meeting ends. Nothing is resolved

(Sidney is relieved. He doesn’t understand why).

 

 

 

It’s ironic how easy it is to align new routines with old ones.

Each night before home games, Sidney and Geno pack overnight bags and head over to the team dorms. Dinner is a communal affair. The team is loud and even the veterans get caught up in it all. For the most part Sidney tries to be relatively unobtrusive. Geno is the team captain. Sidney refuses to be a distraction. The longer he’s in Magnitogorsk the more effortless it is. Sidney isn’t naturally outgoing. Without the C on his jersey, he finds himself able to sit back without feeling the need to keep an eye on the room. When he tells Geno, Geno laughs.

“You do that?”

Sidney shrugs. “I try.”

“You not very good.”

Sidney never claimed to be. Here though, it doesn’t matter. He finds himself falling in with some of the older players. Sopel, Gonch, and Fedorov are good guys – they’re the kind of players Sidney wants to be one day. Nothing really fazes them. They've seen and done it all. They tease Sidney but not too seriously. Sidney’s gotten used to it, and they have gotten used to him.

At night, after everyone had gone to bed, Sidney has a hard time falling asleep. Even now, months after his arrival in Magnitogorsk, he sometimes has a hard time settling in the team dorms. They aren’t too unlike his boarding school dorms, but sleep sometimes evades him. Often when it does, he wanders through the halls. Sometimes he goes into the kitchen and drinks a cool glass of water. Tonight, he when he does, he finds Paul is still up.

“I can never sleep before important games,” he admits. “It’s awful, I know. But old dogs can’t learn new tricks.”

Sidney doesn’t know about that, but he does think Paul is a good coach. He isn’t Dan, but Sidney doesn’t think that matters. Friendship and respect aren’t about comparisons.

Magnitogorsk is a hockey town and a lot of pressure it being put on Metallurg this season. They are near the top of their divisions and at this point in the season, people are taking the results of each game seriously. Very seriously.

Sitting down opposite him, Sidney nods. “Dan would have my neck if he knew.”

Paul grins. “Bylsma’s already wants my blood for stealing his two best players. You shouldn't give him a valid reason to come after me.”

Sidney grins back at him. Dan’s not that bad. His bark is worse than his bite. Paul’s like that too.

“You know, I never thought I’d get a chance like this.” Paul says out of the blue.

“Like what?”

Paul smiles. “To coach someone like you.”

Sidney opens his mouth, but Paul shakes his head.

“After the Hurricanes, I thought my career was over,” Paul says. His tone is thoughtful and the corner of his mouth curls into a half smile. “Then I end up here of all places.”

“Of all places,” Sidney echoes. He understands that.

“This was meant to be our rebuilding year, you know,” Paul says after a beat.

He laughs a little.

“It’s funny how things work out.”

“Yeah,” Sidney agrees and he thinks that is it. But after a few minutes, Paul speaks.

“We might make the playoffs.”

“I know,” Sidney says, and he does.

“I hope you will still be here.”

Sidney nods.

Paul is honest. Sidney isn’t sure if he hopes he will still be here. To be honest he has been trying not to think too much about the possibility of making a run for the Gagarin Cup. Sidney – Sidney hasn’t been thinking that far ahead in general. Can’t think too far ahead. But that’s his choice. It isn’t Paul’s.

(Alex has pestered Sidney about it a few times.

“First Olympic Gold, then Stanley Cup, is not fair to eye Gagarin Cup,” Alex says. “Leave something for the rest of us.”

“Did you have dinner with your mother tonight?”

“No! Why do you say that?”)

Shaking his head, Paul takes Sidney’s now empty glass and puts it and his empty coffee mug in the dishwasher.

"Bed," he tells Sidney. 

"Yeah," Sidney agrees. 

They have a big day tomorrow. 

 

 

 

The longer the lockout continues, the easier it is to forget they’re living on borrowed time.

 

 

 

On their free day, Geno has a charity event for the local orphanage he works with. Sidney tags along.

“You don’t have too,” Geno says.

Sidney doesn’t have to do a lot of things. But this is important to Geno. If Sidney’s presence will help raise awareness and funds for the children, Sidney will do what he can. When he says as much, Geno’s expression shifts and he ducks his head and kisses Sidney’s neck. It’s sweet and over before it begins, but it makes Sidney blush.

“Thank you.”

Sidney ducks his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Not nothing.”

And Sidney knows that.

Charity is important to Geno. He grew up with so little. Now that he is in a position where he can help, he does so at every opportunity. Money, for Geno, only matters when he can do something with it. He’s done a lot for Magnitogorsk, especially for disadvantaged children. But Sidney hadn’t realised how much, until they arrive at the foster home.

It’s short notice, so there isn’t an official translator there when Geno opens the new playground he donated.

Sidney relies on Geno to translate his questions and answers. By now Sidney’s gotten, not used to being one step behind the conversation, but accustomed to it. For the most part, people are more interested in Geno. From the sidelines, Sidney grins a little at Geno and pushes some of the kids on the new swing set while the press pepper Geno with questions.

But at some point, Sidney turns back to Geno and Geno’s expression is strained. He is still smiling and using his hands to make a point – still friendly. But he isn’t open, like he was when he cut the ribbon for the kids.

There isn’t a chance for Sidney to do or say anything until afterwards.

“It’s nothing,” Geno tells him. “Don’t worry.”

Sidney tries to press him, but when they get home, Geno clips the leash on Jeffrey and takes him for a run. When he comes home, he is no longer as flustered, but he is cool towards Sidney. Distanced from Sidney.

Sidney doesn’t understand.

 

 

 

At practice the next day Gonch pulls Geno aside and talks to him while the rest of the team get changed.

From his stall, Sidney watches them out of the corner of his eye.

Later he corners Gonch. Gonch sighs. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“That isn’t fair,” Sidney says, because it isn’t. Geno is Sidney’s friend as much as he is Gonch’s.

Gonch swears, low and guttural. Sidney waits him out.

“Alright,” Gonch says eventually. “A reporter wrote that Geno choice to leave was that of a boy and his choice to return, is that of a man.”

Sidney – he is confused. “That’s not how it was.”

Gonch shakes his head. “No.”

“Everyone knows that wasn’t what happened.”

“People think what they want.”

And – Sidney wants to argue, but he can’t. Not with that. No one can.

Geno is kind and good and the best person Sidney knows. But people – the press – think what they want. Write what they want.

A plot point is a plot point. Geno is as typecast as Sidney. They all are in one way or another.

 

 

 

At times Magnitogorsk feels almost like another world to Sidney.

There is something surreal about it – about the way Russian hockey is played, the way Russia is a mix of periods and places, about the way Geno will climb into his bed, the way Sidney is welcomed in his, the way Geno looks and touches Sidney. It feels like something outside Sidney’s known reality, outside of all his experiences and expectations.

But it isn’t like that for Geno.

For Geno, Magnitogorsk is his home. A home he left for the chance to play for the Penguins. He risked everything to play in the NHL.

There was a chance Geno could have lost everything. He didn’t. But he could have.

Sidney didn’t know any of this when he first meet Geno. Sidney didn’t understand it, not really, until now. All he knew back then was he had been waiting for Geno. Back then Sidney was a nineteen and still a rookie through and through even though he would deny it.

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asks Geno a few days later after they leave a team dinner.

They’ve both been drinking a little, so the words slip out of Sidney’s mouth without thinking. 

“Yes,” Geno says, simply.

“I was waiting for you,” Sidney tells him.

And Sidney had been. Although he didn’t know Geno, every time Sidney had thought of him, it had made his fingers clench because Geno was meant to be there. He was meant to be a Penguin with Sidney.

“Maybe I wait for you,” Geno says. “Ever think of that?” 

And Sidney stills.

No. Sidney didn’t think of that.

“Were you,” Sidney manages to say, “waiting for me?”

He watches Geno reach for him, pressing his hand to the small of Sidney’s back and keeping him close as they wait for their taxi.

“Geno?” Sidney asks, when Geno doesn’t answer.

“Yes,” Geno ducks his head and smiles. “Of course. Always.”

And okay. Okay.

 

 

 

The thing is, they haven’t talked about it.

Russia – Magnitogorsk. The team, the league, dinner with Geno’s parents and socialising with Geno’s friends. It all feels like it’s happening in a separate world.

The lockout could end any day now. It hasn’t so far, but it could.

After another proposal is made, it is decided that NHL owner can speak to players. Sidney doesn’t find out until a random reporter asks if he’s spoken to Mario.

Pat is apologetic when Sidney calls. “I thought you would have already known.”

And Sidney should have. But it’s been a while since he was waiting on baited breath for news on the state of the lockout. 

When he gets home after practice, he sits in Geno’s room and looks Mario’s number in his phone.

Geno finds him like that.

Taking Sidney’s iPhone from his hands, Geno presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Is okay.”

Sidney shakes his head.

 

 

 

For the longest time, Sidney only had Mario and Geno.

 

 

 

“I don’t know what to say – where to start,” Sidney says without being prompted the following morning.

Pouring him a mug of coffee, Geno is thoughtful. “Maybe he doesn’t either.”

Sidney pauses.

He hadn’t thought of that.

The thought stays with him.

As he and Geno step out onto the ice at practice, Sidney finds himself looking out at the empty stands.

“Do you think he’s been watching?”

Geno taps his stick lightly against Sidney’s shin pad. “Every game, I bet.”

Sidney smile. “I watched every one of your games.”

It felt like a secret at the time. Now it doesn’t feel like anything but something he wants Geno to know. When he turns and looks at Geno, Geno has a fond expression in his eyes.

“Every game?”

Sidney nods. “Yeah.”

Maybe that’s how they say it. Maybe that’s all they need to say.

And in the end, that’s what pushes Sidney over the edge.

When he calls Mario, it takes him only one ring to answer.

“Hey,” Sidney breaths.

And the line isn’t great, but he hears Mario exhale. “Hey Sid, good to hear from you.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mario says.

 

 

 

The lockout ends a week and a half into the New Year.

The season is saved, just.

Together Sidney and Geno fly to Pittsburgh.

“It’ll be okay,” Geno says as they settle into their seats.

And Sidney nods.

Folded into too small airplane seats, he rests his thigh against Geno's and it feels like home.  

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find/follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pr-scatterbrain.tumblr.com) if you want <3


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